Brusies
by Dragons-And-Merlin's-Beard
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has dealt with the bullying and abuse his entire life but after a fitful few months at university, his knight in shining armor appears and picks up the broken pieces.
1. Chapter 1

University.

It was supposed to be better, Mummy had told Sherlock, kids grew up and weren't so mean. They wouldn't tease him anymore, wouldn't bully him anymore. Those words were the reason Sherlock ever got through school, ever graduated despite the jeers and taunts that sounded as he had walked down the stage to get his diploma. Mummy told him, "Sherlock, darling, just you wait. University is where your life begins. Everyone is different. You'll love it. You'll thrive."

As Sherlock dove through bushes and burst into his dorm building sweating and covered with dirt, all he could think of how Mummy had been very, very _wrong_.

. . .

Sure, University wasn't nearly as horrid as his formative years, but it was not the heaven-like experience he had hoped upon, had dreamed about nearly every night. It was still difficult, and Sherlock still found he didn't fit within a certain group nor did he know how to speak to people without pissing them off.

Today had been the real screw-up and Sherlock had realized it as soon as the deduction had slipped off his tongue and reached Sebastian Wilkes ears. He had only been trying to mind his own business in the library and explore the resources there to study for his courses when the arsehole himself had decided to pick fight with him.

"It's the freak." Sebastian sneered, his foot jostling one of the chairs next to Sherlock, "Heard he's a homo." He smirked.

Sherlock looked up, swallowing hard, keeping his temper level as he shut his book. "It would seem that one's sexuality is not your concern." He stated calmly, sitting stiffly in his chair, muscles tensed.

"It is, actually. When you live in the same building as me. I don't want to know what your kind do in their free time." Seb snarled, pressing a hand on the table Sherlock was sitting at. The breech in space between them made Sherlock uncomfortable and slightly nervous.

He licked his lips and offered a polite smile, standing up to start packing his things. He didn't want to keep this fight rolling, he didn't want to provoke something worse than a bit of verbal harassment. "I need to go." He said, stuffing the book in his bag before hurrying to zip it up and pull it over his shoulders.

"Going to shag some bloke I bet." Seb laughed, the two of his buddies behind him joining in quietly, "Or put on a dress. Who bloody knows with this freak."

Sherlock cleared his throat, the white heat of anger flashing behind his eyes and he didn't have time to bite his tongue. "Oh, yes, that is definitely what I am doing. Funny you should suggest such activities when you partake in both of them." The words were quick and clear and the reaction Seb gave sent Sherlock bolting out of the library, heart and feet pounding.

His bag holding his books, binders, and laptop was only weighing him down and he let out desperate wheezes as he sprinted across campus, feeling sweat beginning to bead on his hairline. He could hear Sebastian and another person in close pursuit behind him, grunting and cursing at him. He tried to use his mind and think of some solution to losing them, so he began cutting sharp corners, turn after turn; and there he was, diving into the bushes in front of his dorm building, dirt sticking to his cotton polo Mummy had bought him for his birthday. Great. Something else to put on the Things-Sherlock-Fucked-Up list.

He waited behind one of the bushes, trying to listen for footsteps but when there were none he darted into the building and stumbled over to the furniture in the lobby and collapsed on to one of the couches in the lobby. He was slumped awkwardly, his bag pressing uncomfortably against his spine and his face pressed harshly into the arm of the couch. He felt sticky with sweat and his lungs burned from the large amount of physical activity he had just involved himself in.

He glanced over at the two other people across the room, curled up in beanbag chairs with their noses in their laptop, fingers flying across their keyboards; they hadn't even noticed his abrupt and questionable entrance. If only everyone were so focused upon their studies rather than making other people's lives' miserable. They remained immersed in their work as Sherlock pulled himself up on to his feet and took the stairs up to the second floor where his room was.

Exhausted, sweaty, and miserable he wobbled down the hallway to his room, passing someone who turned to look at him with concern on their face, "Hey, you okay?"

Sherlock turned his head to look over at the other person. Blond. Blue eyes. Soft lips. _Not important,_ he snapped internally. "Yes. Perfectly fine." He answered in one breath before shoving his key into the lock and nearly diving inside of his room. He locked his door behind him and tossed his bag on to the ground.

If only he could learn to just shut his damn mouth.

He walked over to his bed and plopped down on to it face first, his face buried into his pillow. Maybe he could just quit, drop out.

He rolled on to his back and stared vacantly up at his ceiling. He was due to call Mummy tonight and he would have to refine his acting skills to assure her that everything at university was just peachy. It was something he was rather acclimated to by now; lying about how life really was going.

Concerning his parents was one of last things he wished to do, so he kept quiet about the issues and simply focused on his studies instead. The only person that easily saw through him was Mycroft, but he knew just as well as Sherlock that upsetting Mummy was out of the question.

Sherlock fished his mobile out of the back pocket of his jeans and unlocked it to text Mycroft.

 _I should just drop out of uni now. SH_


	2. Chapter 2

_Bang, bang, bang._

It wasn't knocking. It was banging. Sherlock woke up with a jolt at the noise, his heart immediately beginning to pound. He only could associate this strange event with something not good. Not good at all. He shakily pulled himself out of bed, his legs feeling quite like jell-o. The sun was bleeding into his room and it was a bit chilly. He was hazy and did his best to focus on getting to the door before someone broke it down. He pulled his dressing gown around his pyjamas before walking over to his door to look through the rather convenient peep hole. _Please don't be Seb, please don't be Seb._

Irene Adler.

He let out an annoyed (and somewhat relieved) huff before unlocking and opening the door for his friend. "What the hell are you doing here so early _banging_ on my door?" He hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her inside before anyone came out of their rooms to question the noise and the pretty little number outside his room.

"Darling, you weren't answering your phone. I was only thinking the worst." She sighed dramatically, pulling away from him to go make herself at home on Sherlock's bed, kicking off her flip flops. She was half bloody naked. In the boys' dorm. She was out of her mind. This wasn't news, however.

"Did you shower in this building too? Why are you here?" He asked, catching himself pacing in front of his bed that was now occupied by _her majesty_.

"No, stop getting your knickers all in a twist, sweetheart. I'm just stopping by to see my good old pal." She cooed. She ran he newly polished finger nails through her damp hair, looking as if she were about to get her picture taken for a magazine. She was quite breathtaking and Sherlock was sure he'd be attracted to her if he weren't gay.

"People are going to think things with you barging in here like this." Sherlock complained going over to the small kitchenette in his dorm that didn't really have food more so beakers covered by parafilm holding odd chemicals and gels. He even had a mini incubator in place of his microwave which only added to the morbid smell of his room.

"Well good. Then they'll stop chasing you around calling you a fairy." Irene pointed out, giving Sherlock's pillow a sniff, "Ah, ah. Someone's on cigarettes again." She smirked, an eyebrow raised. Like she had room to talk, she smoked a pack a day along with the several drugs she dabbled in at parties.

"I have a stressful enough life to warrant the occasional smoke." He said under his breath, opening up the incubator to look over the colonies of chlamydia on his plates. He was attempting to find ways to kill it off as a past time; nothing working so far it seemed.

"How do they even let you have that horrid stuff in here?" Irene coughed, waving her hand in front of her nose. The smell was atrocious. "You're never going to get that Watson boy in here like this. Get a better hobby please, darling."

Sherlock felt his ears go red at the comment, "Shut up." He snapped, shoving the plate back into the incubator before shutting it. He opened a window to air out the smell, "Stop acting like you... know things." He mumbled, finding a granola bar to fill in for his breakfast, "I've never even spoken to him." He hated how warm his face felt. He chomped at the granola bar, willing for the blush to disappear from his face.

Irene was having a laugh off of Sherlock's embarrassment, "So, then speak to him. Duh." She replied simply, snatching a pen and post-it note off of Sherlock's desk, scrawling out on it ' _will suck dick for intellectual conversations'._ She then walked over to stick it to Sherlock's forehead with a satisfied smirk on her face. It wasn't even a second before Sherlock peeled it right off, read it, and crumbled it up in his hand.

"Not funny." He said, tossing the note unsuccessfully at the trash bin.

"Come on, Sherly. It's Uni. Go out. Have fun. Get drunk. Suck some guy off in the bathroom so you can regret it in the morning but at least have the experience." Irene sighed, tossing herself back on to the bed, "Bet you haven't even kissed anyone, right?"

Sherlock ignored the question completely, not wanting to get into any of that. He walked over, checked the time and began packing up his things into his book bag. "I have to leave for classes in about twenty minutes. You need to go. Do whatever it is that you do." He told Irene, giving her a serious look.

"Fine, fine." She slipped off the bed and slipped back on her shoes, "Just wanted to pay my friend a visit and see that he's okay. Golly." She hummed, padding over to Sherlock's side, "We're partying tomorrow night. You're coming even if I have to drag your pale arse out of this room." With that she kissed his cheek and stumbled out of the room in only her flip flops, underwear, and dressing gown.

He let out a loud groan, running his hands through his hair. He focused on getting ready. T-shirt. Jeans. Earbuds to block people out.

He looked at the crumbled up note, reaching down to throw it away properly this time. Irene Adler. She was certainly... _something else._ Sometimes he regretted befriending Irene; however, somewhere deep inside of him he knew she was beneficial in getting him out there. Out of his shell.

He took a deep breath.

How bad could a party be?

He repeated the question in his head over and over; the answer became less and less reassuring.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Apologies for the long spacing between chapters. I am a very busy student right now and so sometimes I find it difficult to make time for writing. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _Always so dramatic, little brother. MH_

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the text message that he had received finally, after several hours of him waiting for a reply. He didn't bother with a response as he was in the middle of studying. Tucked back in the corner of the library, Sherlock sat with piles of books and scattered papers. He always surpassed the coursework and did more research of his own purely for his own bank of knowledge.

His handwriting was scribbles as he took down fragmented notes and thoughts on just one of his one-hundred and forty notebooks. One may think it strange to own so many notebooks, yet every one was filled like coffee to the brim of a mug. Currently his attention was to the structure of bacteria with an emphasis of the outer membranes and the phospholipids it contained.

Next to him was a very distracted Molly that was finding any and every opportunity to stare at him. Sherlock had already attempted to insinuate his sexuality to her, but it was always a failing cause. It was not as if she even had the time to be distracted as she was in pre-med, leading into pathology.

"I'm sure the answer to how long it takes for a body to fully decay is not on my face, Molly." Sherlock murmured before giving her a grim look. He did his best to refrain from any sort of action that may seem flirtatious in any sort of light. He did not need to feed her obsession any further.

She blushed furiously and immediately turned her attention back to her text book. She took highlighter to the words and scribbled notes hastily in the margins of the pages. She didn't even speak or try to defend herself this time and Sherlock didn't know if this was better or worse. He simply shrugged and continued with his work.

Sherlock fell into his mind and was rather unresponsive as Molly spoke to him after a good half an hour of silence. Her voice was just a quiet blurb in the distance and it took a few tries at speaking to him before he lifted his head to acknowledge her. "Yes?" He asked, a bit dazed.

"I was saying about John Watson. He seemed to have noticed you..." Molly mumbled, twirling her pen anxiously between her fingers, "Irene... she told me. About you, I mean. Your..." She trailed off. She was unsure of how to say the words without being offensive or out of her place. She was a rather considerate person; so unlike Sherlock.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock spoke calmly, "She had no right to be telling others those sorts of things about me, but even then I must thank her. So that now you advances towards me will stop." He said, not meaning to sound so blunt.

"Right..." Molly was embarrassed, "I didn't ask, she just told me." She tried to justify, "I'm sorry."

Sherlock waved his hand, "Fine, it's fine." He mumbled, scratching his pen back over his notebook, "Just... let's not speak about this again. There is many people not so gracious towards how I am."

It went quiet after that and they both managed to have a full hour of focused study time before they closed things up and said their goodbyes; Molly looking a bit flustered and ashamed. Sherlock wished to reassure her everything was fine but he was never good with coming up with the right things to say so he just left her with a friendly salutation.

* * *

"You should be thankful I'm funding your dinner for tonight." Mycroft murmured, speaking across from Sherlock at the large oak table in Mycroft's dining room.

"You ordered in takeout. That's hardly funding anything." Sherlock argued, poking his plastic fork at his noodles. "You're lucky I visited. It's obvious you're a lonely sod living here all by yourself."

Mycroft simply raised an eyebrow at the remark, taking a small poised bite, "I can assure you I am perfectly fine."

"Oh, yes sure." Sherlock hummed. His eyes slid over the cool-colored decor around him. A glass case full of beautifully painted porcelain tea cups, and plates. Above the shelf holding the expensive pieces were several photographs embellished by silver frames. Even the photos were impeccable, taken by a high-cost camera by a high-cost photographer. They were all from pinpoint times in their life when they had important and memorable family trips.

Brussels, France - they had went all over that country, British Columbia, Bangladesh, Barcelona, and many more cities starting with a 'B' - for some reason it was Mummy's favorite letter.

"Sentimental." Sherlock grinned, gaze returning to his brother.

Mycroft simply rolled his eyes, stabbing his fork at his chicken, "They simply are there to appease Mummy when she visits." He said, shaking his head. "She always stands by them with at look in her eye and drowns in her own nostalgia." He commented with a tone of disgust. Sentiment was always disgusting to Mycroft and usually Sherlock. However the younger Holmes' boy was growing more and more soft by the years.

"So you tell yourself, only to allow yourself sleep at night." Sherlock countered with a smug expression tied on his face.

"I do not remember inviting you to my house for dinner to discuss our holiday pictures, brother dear. I quite remember it being you wanting to drop out of university." He tutted, "You know how upset Mummy would be. In tears, she would be. Her poor Sherlock throwing away all of that potential." He sighed in an overly dramatic display.

"Stuff it." Sherlock huffed, poking his fork in the air at his brother.

"Elegant, William." Mycroft replied in a snipped voice, continuing his dinner. Sherlock then grew quiet after a small roll of his eyes. Every dinner was similar; short, biting phrases and sarcasm. He hated the tradition of dinners together but the fact they kept in touch with each other as they now led into their own adult lives made Mummy oh-so delighted.

"Please, we know how it is when Mummy is disappointed; weeping over the potential we both hold and how many occasions we dismiss this. You don't want Mummy to cry do you?"Mycroft questioned.

"I'm sure Mummy would be in tears knowing the amount of times I am called homophobic slursand shoved into bushes on a daily basis." Sherlock suddenly snapped, rising up from his seat. He was vibrating with emotion and he felt the prickling at the back of his eyes. He hated how affected he seemed to the stereotypical bullying. He slowly sat back down as he saw Mycroft's face immediately sober and fall.

"Oh, Sherlock." He whispered and it made Sherlock's chest pained.

"I need to go."

"No, Sherlock. We are going to talk about this. Who is it? Tell me names, you know how quickly I can have something done about them. Are they harassing you on campus? Do they hurt you?" And there he was; worried big brother Mycroft. It wasn't often he showed up, not unless a serious situation permitted it.

"I have to go, Mycroft, I am a very busy student." Sherlock insisted, feeling his chest flutter nervously.

"You know I only wish the best for you, Sherlock." Mycroft spoke. "Please call me when you need me." He more so demanded than recommended.

"Yes, fine, okay." Sherlock grumbled, grabbing his phone and bag before finding his way out of the expanse of house purchased as a result of Mycroft's secretive (and obviously well-paid) job. "Bye." His voice was quiet and he felt frustrated with the emotional bomb that just exploded inside of him. Simple situation. Just needed to keep his damned mouth closed and learn to control his damned _emotions._


	4. Chapter 4

It was cold and the grey, and the heavy clouds above Sherlock's head threatened rain. Yet, there he was at some stupid rugby match for the university. It wasn't even an 'official' match but a scrimmage. The reason he was there? John Watson. Handsome pre-med rugby player.

Molly sat beside him shivering beneath her thick cardigan and she looked unsure about her decision to tag along now that they were there. Sherlock would offer up his coat to her but he was equally freezing. They'd hit one of the first temperature-dropping days of autumn and while the sun dropped beneath the horizon the air only grew more biting.

He was sure it was worth it, especially when he saw their university's team march out on to the field. They had sweatshirts or long-sleeve tee's beneath their jerseys. Most had bare legs however, and their small shorts did not do well to cover them up. Sherlock wasn't sure whether to be worried or entranced by this.

He found John and kept the other in his eyesight as much as he could. They'd gotten crummy seats more towards the top of the stadium rather than down closer to the field. This didn't keep Sherlock from staring at the blond and his muscular, tanned legs. He was sure the temperature soon wasn't a conflict for the players as they were dashing all over the field; seeming to work up a sweat. John's face showed soft patches of red and his hair soon stuck to his forehead from the perspiration gathering by his hair line. It was attractive in a rather strange, unconventional way.

When it was half time, Sherlock followed Molly back to her car so they could spend a few minutes in a small, heated area. She had heat packs stuffed in her console and she broke them out for their frozen hands.

"You must really like him, then." She commented as her hands rubbed furiously over the pack. Her skin was tight and red from being bitten by icy winds.

Sherlock had a lukewarm coffee pressed against his lips and he nearly choked on the beverage trying to quickly spit out some sort of defense. "Ridiculous!" He huffed, coughing and sputtering coffee into his coat. "My parents wanted me to get out of my dorm and explore the events on campus. That's all." He stated firmly, bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

"Oh, sure." She hummed, almost looking amused. She pressed one of the packs against the side of her neck, sighing softly. "That's why you've been staring at John Watson all night, drooling." She sounded almost jealous, but held it back. "It's okay. You can say it."

Sherlock stared down at his coffee, furrowing his brow, "I don't even know him." He frowned. He wish he did, but he was sure the moment John Watson would speak to him that he would jump out of his skin. "Look, you can go back now if you don't want to be here. I'll just hike it back to my building after."

Molly was very tempted by this due to her being very cold and Sherlock was the one that dragged her here anyways; since Irene was appalled by sports and had declined his offer. She mulled over it for a moment, juggling the heat pack in her hands before humming softly, "Fine. I'll go back, but if you don't want to walk back I'll swing by and drive you. Just give me a call."

Sherlock nodded, "Sounds fair." He then waved curtly and slid out of Molly's vehicle. He strode quickly back to inside of the fenced-in field and found a slightly better seat by himself more towards the front.

Sherlock battled the cold the rest of the game, pulling his limbs in against his torso to try to preserve his body heat. He found it difficult to track John after a while as they moved in quick, jerky movements everywhere. Sometimes there would be a pile-up and an all-out fight would brew up on the field. He would never see John subjecting himself to these fights, he only ever marched over to snap at people and break them up before the referee could card them.

The game ended in a tie and all players were eager to rush off the field into the warmth of their locker rooms. It was rather sad to see John disappear within the small building but he was okay with the fact that he got to back to the warmth and comfort of his dorm.

He waited for most people to file down and out of the stadium before he got up and slung his small bag around his shoulder and followed out through the gate on the stands. He hurried over to the concession stand, hoping they may have hot beverages being sold. He saw hot chocolate on the order list and smacked down a bill for it. As he waited patiently for his drink, he was aware of the familiar, gut-wrenching voices behind him. He closed his eyes and prayed to some higher power that he wouldn't be spotted but the light from the small stand easily gave away his lanky figure and wild inky curls.

A sudden large grip was smacked on to his shoulder and he felt his stomach drop as he turned around to see the snide look on the man behind him. Sebastian. _Shit. Of course._

"Well hello there, Sherly Locks." He mocked, gaining a few laughs from a few guys behind him. He shook Sherlock's shoulder and smacked it again, harder than you would to someone in the spirit of camaraderie. "Haven't seen your face in a few days." He grinned, yellow, crooked teeth on display.

He gritted his teeth and kept his lips pressed together tightly as though to remind himself to shut the hell up. However, by the look on their faces, he was already in some trouble. He looked nervously at the girl that was running the concession stand, capping his styrofoam cut of hot chocolate. She looked back at him, a small expression of discomfort showing on her face; however it was obvious she wasn't going to intervene.

He swallowed thickly, and hated the way he shook in Seb's grasp. The sadist only seemed to gain more and more joy from the reactions Sherlock was giving him. "Aw, is the little homo scared?" He cooed, his fist balling up in Sherlock's jacket, proceeding to shake him around a bit.

As Sherlock opened his mouth to speak he was interrupted by another voice, separate from Seb and his gang of baboons.

"Sebastian Wilkes." It was John Watson. He was now in a hooded sweatshirt and joggers to combat the cold weather. He looked fresh out of the shower, hair still damp. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Being an arsehole surely doesn't help you get on the team, you know?" He pushed through some of the people and grabbed Seb's wrist before wrenching it away from where it was on Sherlock. "Do yourself a favor and piss off, yeah?"

Sebastian seemed rather mortified but quickly tried to explain the situation in his favor, "I'm sorry, look, this fairy was asking for it. Kept making remarks at me. Little bastard, he is." He grumbled, shooting the dirtiest look imaginable at Sherlock before an apologetic look at John, "I really don't want to screw up my chances, rugby is my sport. Been playing it since I was seven."

John tsked and shook his head, "Looks like you'll have to stick with field hockey. Now _piss off._ " He growled, taking a threatening step forward.

The crowd of them gave disgruntling looks and grumbled beneath their breaths as they dispersed. This left Sherlock standing there somewhat in a state of shock and John turning to give the taller boy a look of concern, "You okay?"

Sherlock blinked slowly, looking at John nervously, "Yes, of course, fine." He said, his words hurried. He turned to see the girl set his hot chocolate on the counter with his change. "I... I gotta go." With that, he grabbed the drink and hurried off into the cold without a glance back. His feet carried him through the fence and on the pathways that would lead him back to his dorm. He wrapped his hands around the warm drink, trying to keep himself from contracting hypothermia.

He then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Seb and his little group. Sherlock would not doubt that the other would be too worried over his precious spot on the rugby team to mess with him, but he was not going to chance it. He started stumbled backwards on his feet before whipping around and nearly breaking into a sprint. Then he was crashing into someone else, the cap of his hot chocolate dislodged and caused the hot drink to spill all over the place.

Of course. John Watson.

"Gah! _Fuck._ I-I'm sorry!" Sherlock stuttered, his body trembling as he stared nervously at the other.

The blond was now a tad soaked with hot chocolate but didn't look angry. He was laughing. Softly. The sound was the equivalent to being by a fireplace.

"It's okay, Sherlock." He smiled. His named on John Watson's lips. He could _die._ "You ran off. You don't seem okay. Let me walk you back. We stay in the same dorms."

It was a conflicting feeling, this, wanting and not wanting something at the same time. Of course he wanted to have John Watson, rugby captain, walk him home; however he did not know how well he could keep himself from spontaneously combusting while doing so.

"I- uh, okay. Sure... thanks." Sherlock managed. His hands shook as he tried to pop the lid back on to his cup. After he succeeded they began walking; for a while in silence then John broke the ice.

"I hear a lot about you. You're kind of the talk of our building. And the science department of the school." John smiled kindly, his beautiful blue eyes reflecting the moonlight. "I've heard you do experiments in your dorm - like its some bad thing. While you're fueling your scientific curiosity others are smoking weed and drinking." He grinned, nudging Sherlock. Was that compliment? He couldn't tell. Sherlock simply cleared his throat and offered a faint smile.

"When I'm in my science labs, though, I hear how brilliant you are. Far beyond what is to be expected in the class's curriculum. We have the same professor for Organic Chem, she speaks very highly of you." John hummed and Sherlock wondered why he would ever care to know so much about him. What was so special about a freak lie him?

"Oh... I wasn't aware anyone thought highly of me. More so, the other way around." Sherlock murmured as he cast his gaze downward. He tucked his hands away in the pockets of his jacket, "As you saw, I'm not really liked. Per se."

"They're arseholes, you should know that, yeah?" John huffed, his eyes shifting over to scan Sherlock's face. It was unnerving to be under his inquisitive eyes.

John sighed softly, almost sounding sad. Sherlock didn't understand John's emotional involvement in his own life. He was insignificant compared to the other. "You don't deserve to be treated like that. Don't you worry, okay? I'll make sure those prats cut it out." He promised, pressing a hand reassuringly between Sherlock's shoulder blades.

The touch caused Sherlock to stumble over his feet and nearly fall on his face. He quickly recovered from he small stutter in movement, "Right... thank you. Kind of you." He mumbled.

Before long they were already back to the buildings and Sherlock hadn't been sure how they'd gotten there so quick. He didn't want to so soon leave John's side, but he should count himself lucky to even have this small time with the other.

John walked with him inside and all the way up the stairs to Sherlock's room and this led to an _attack_ of butterflies in his stomach. He quickly reminded himself that his own room was on the way to John's own. He wasn't special and John was most likely straight anyways. Sure Sherlock deduced something different about the other's sexuality, but this meant nothing.

"Good night, Sherlock. See you later." John hummed with a wave before disappearing down the hallway.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He could faint. He really could.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning after the game, Sherlock woke up with five missed calls and thirty text messages. All from Irene. He groaned. He'd missed the party. He had mostly forgot, until he had gotten into bed. The thought of 'oh wasn't that party tonight?' fluttered through, but he chose to ignore it.

The main reason Irene seemed to push him to go was to see John Watson, but he had just played a rugby match, perhaps he'd been too tired to attend? That would be a reasonable excuse to give to Irene, when she inevitably was to show up at Sherlock's door in a pure rage. The rage would only last a few minutes before she felt the need to splurge information on her latest hookup. He would pretend to listen as he browsed the web on his mobile.

Maybe John Watson, and the entirety of the rugby team, did attend, and maybe John Watson - with no curly-haired genius there to snog - got off with someone else. Took some girl in a closet, and shagged her right there. He cringed at the thought, even though John was known to be a bit of a sex maniac. A sex maniac that was endlessly skilled in bed. Irene had learned this from one of her hookups, a gal doing her university sexual experimentation. Irene had fun with those.

Sherlock groaned loudly, stretching out his limbs. His bed was too warm. He felt sweaty and uncomfortable. He doubted he'd have time for shower before Irene was due at the dorm. So, he instead put on slippers, and made his way down to the vending machines for some source of breakfast, phone in hand. He went through the many messages. They were quite amusing.

 _Hey idiot, get your pert little arse over here. IA_

 _Now. IA_

 _You're not bloody coming are u? IA_

 _Fucking prick. IA_

 _Speaking of pricks, John's here, and I'm quite sure he's got a big one. IA_

 _Aw, he looks a bit a lost. IA_

 _OMG SHERLOCK! IA_

 _HE ASKED ABOUT YOU! IA  
_

 _Unbelievable, you're unbelievable. IA_

Sherlock stopped after that, feeling his heart stop momentarily. John Watson, had a _sked_ about him? Irene was definitely blowing smoke. It was just another tactic to get him to tag along to a party. The rest of the messages detailed a few of the girls there, and the one she managed to wrangle into a shag back at her dorm. There were more explicit details that made Sherlock nauseous. Details that involved riding crops and body fluids.

He turned his attention away from his phone as he fed money into the vending machine, punching in the number for a bag of crisps. He was far too lazy to make his way to the cafeteria for more substantial food. As he bent over, pulling the crisps from the slot, he heard a voice behind him that made his stomach churn.

"Ah, Sherly."

Sebastian.

He breathed deeply through his nose, his eyes closing for a moment of contemplation. He then straightened up, and turned around to face the other. "Seb." He said flatly, feeling a bit vulnerable straight out of sleep - in only pyjamas. He shouldn't feel the need to dress just to roam his own dorm building, but it seemed so with such people about. "This isn't your building." He quipped, his fingers playing with the bag of crisps. He was nervous. He really didn't want to be, or seem nervous to the other.

He was in rugby attire, most likely about to go to try outs. Or something of the sort. He wasn't yet on the team, as John had pointed out. His muscles were on display. He was not built too much, but he was far more bulked and defined than Sherlock was. He would definitely win in a fight.

Sebastian corned him against the power drink machine, pressing a hand firmly against his shoulder, pinning him to the glass. "That wasn't very nice of you, last night, getting me in trouble like that." He hissed, a menacing smile on his lips. "You nearly killed my chances of playing rugby. That would ruin my entire uni experience."

Sherlock swallowed nervously, shutting his eyes. He tried to calm down, but he was making his fear obvious to the other. He opened his eyes again, shaking his head faintly, "I did not intend for that. You know that." He said firmly, feeling the pressure on his shoulder increase. He grit his teeth, feeling a terrifying uncertainty of what to do. He didn't want to beg for the other ease off. He had _some_ dignity.

Suddenly Sebastian's grip went from his shoulder to his hair. He clamped a big, meaty hand in his curls, wringing them tight. "Oh, come on, pretty boy. It's obvious you're after the ruby captain." He said, grinning ear to ear, "Like someone of his status would spend one second on a disgusting poof, like you." He tightened his hand even more in his hair. He loathed the whimper that escaped his lips. It only made Sebastian's pleasure grow more. "Wouldn't be so pretty without all of this hair, huh?" Even tighter. Sherlock began to fear a clump of his hair was going to be ripped from their follicles.

"Yoohoo." A soft, sultry voice sounded behind the brute.

Sebastian released Sherlock, and turned to face Irene Adler. She had her full makeup done, hair curled, and rather tight hugging, suede dress on. Breathtaking as ever. She waved a finger at him, clad in sharp red acrylics.

"That doesn't seem very nice, hmm, big boy?" She cooed, pressing a hand to her hip. Before the other could respond, she lashed out, her nails digging into the skin of Sebastian's cheek. Bright, red blood bubbled up from the four, perfectly aligned scratches.

His hand shook as he pressed it against the mark. It undoubtedly stung. He struggled with his words for a moment before managing an enraged, "Bitch!"

"I'm the bitch? Well, yes I am." Irene laughed, stepping back a bit, "I really am, because if you try to retaliate, I won't hesitate to spread the rumor, well it's true actually, that your cock is the size of your thumb. Bye, bye."

. . .

"You didn't have to draw blood." Sherlock mumbled, sitting cross-legged on his bed as Irene washed her hands in his sink.

"You can't really _not_ draw blood with these girls." Irene hummed, a satisfied grin on her face as she displayed her Wolverine nails. "Hidden weapon. I'm a college girl, I need some sort of protection." She pointed out, now reapplying her bright red lipstick.

Sherlock tore open his crisps, and stuffed a few in his mouth. He didn't know how he was ever going to get rid of Sebastian. Irene had only minutes ago suggested a solution would be to date John Watson. As if it were so simple.

"You know, by hurting him, you're only making him more angry with me. One day, he's going to find me, and truly _murder_ me. I would not underestimate what he would be prepared to do." His voice was hushed, his expression a bit grave. "He's evil. Pure evil. Rage is ingrained in every fiber of his being - along with much self-hatred. These sorts of elements, untreated, not talked out, make a murderer."

"Calm the hell down, Sherls. Not everyone is a murderer." Irene scoffed, snapping her compact shut dramatically.

"No, but everyone is capable." He responded, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "Some capable, on the edge. About to snap."

"Can't you just thank me for saving your arse? He was about to knock you out, my dear." She walked over, and invaded Sherlock's crisps, grabbing a handful for herself. "I'll always be here, and unless he wants blue balls, he'll stay away - and I'll keep my mouth shut." She smirked.

Sherlock snorted, and shook his head. Irene was no protection, he knew that much. It did not comfort him at all.

"Anyways." Irene started again, "There's another party tomorrow night, and I will drag you from this room to get you there." She mumbled over a mouthful of crisps, "Molly is coming too. With a date." She grinned, wiggling her eyebrows, "Even better, her date knows John Watson."

Sherlock rubbed his hands over his face. He really didn't want to go, but being a no-show last night, he had no choice. He prayed that Sebastian wouldn't be there, but that was certainly wishful thinking.

With a small sigh, he responded, "Alright. I'll go. This time."


End file.
